


Scaremonth of the Red Moon

by MetalAmadeus



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Inspired by Metal /m/, Magic, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetalAmadeus/pseuds/MetalAmadeus
Summary: Imagine for a moment Bellwether's big dream - all predators are naught but a fairytale and myth. Granted, a scary myth, one that in the recent times has prompted the rise of the Scaremonth Celebration - Halloween. But, not all is as it seems, and sometimes what you don't believe in is much more real then what you think
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	1. The train ride

**Author's Note:**

> It's been what, a year now that I have been unable to write anything? Oh well, not that I am complaining, but apparently those plots still stuck in my head (this one is two years late, but I... Don't... Care) won't let me rest. It would probably feel good to write a book of my own, BUT that would require waaaaaay too much work in the lore and setting department. I am way more comfortable with just tinkering with what is already established. Now.
> 
> Who told you to take rest?! Back to the suffering stations, we are now gonna have some proper Halloween misadventures happening to random and not very mammals! And, remember - Vampires don't die (by Powerwolf)!

For a young bunny like Cotton, life was simple. The sky was blue, the grass was green, she loved some of her relatives more than others and didn't like some of them too. Cotton was a good doe, her mom would often tell. She also added that she could easily wrap any buck's heart to build a family and have her own burrow-farm when of age. Cotton mostly agreed with this but sometimes, the little girl in her would want something more… adventurous? Yes. Just like her dear aunt Judy, who didn't want to be a simple country farmer and decided to go to university.

Cotton missed her aunt and her bedtime stories. Especially the ones her siblings considered spooky, that were told to young bunnies on the nights of the "scaremonth", October. The ones aunt Judy excelled at. The stories of mythical and supernatural.

Stories… of predators.

\m/

Judy was undecided. On one hand, the bunny was extremely sad she wasn't able to find a job for herself right after getting her bachelor's in psychology from Zootopia Municipal Culture University. On the other hand, she was happy to return to Bunnyburrows, her home. How she missed her family. Maybe it would be great for her to get a bit of a break after studying all these years, see her loved ones, rest a bit and then try again.

To Judy's left, on the passage side of the train car of late evening Burrows Express (she occupied the window seat) sat a goat. Somehow, the bunny doe found her eyes constantly traveling to his form, as if he was some kind of a magnet. Maybe it was the way he dressed? The goat was, and she was certain in her ability to assert other species' age, in his thirties. A black fedora hat, finely pressed burgundy suit, light green shirt with leaves pattern, and real lizard-skin hoof-protectors screamed wealth and extravagance. But then, his loosened dark purple tie and the cheap tablet in his paws…

Mostly it was the tablet and his interaction with it, Judy decided, that absolutely shattered the first impression of the goat. His constant mumbles on how he was not used to this kind of idiocy, which apparently was using a glassy piece of plastic when there was more than enough paper and ink to print books.

Judy found this surprisingly funny, watching his antics with the tablet, even though the goat seemed annoyed by the contraption. How long ago was it when the doe herself had such troubles after entering the ZMCU? And then, the goat licked one of his fingers and tried to flip a page of the book he was reading, leaving a large smear on the screen. This event launched a full minute long tirade from the goat, on how he hated modern appliances and how he hated himself for not being able to get rid of some nasty habits. Mostly though, on how he didn't have a handkerchief to clean the spit. Not being one to refuse a fellow mammal in need, Judy acted.

\- Mister? Sorry, but I overheard that you need a handkerchief for your tablet? I don't have one, but the next best thing is always with me. The screaners! - With this, the doe extended one of her screen cleaning microfiber cloths she always carried in her bag. The goat besides her stared at the piece of cloth in the doe's paw a bit suspiciously, but then extended his own to accept the offered help.

\- Much obli… ged. - As the goat's extended paw has taken the cloth out of Judy's, his eyes went wide, the size of saucers, while he nearly choked on his words.

\- Um, sir? Everything alright? - Judy started concerned at her neighbor, but he seemed to instantly recover from whatever it was that influenced him.

\- Yes. No. Well, I just realized that you could probably hear a lot more than just my need in a cloth for the screen. - The goat chuckled, as his hooves easily handled the microfiber to swipe his tablet's screen spotless.

\- My name is Nicholas Wilde, with a silent "E" at the end. Yes, don't laugh, I get that a lot. My friends though usually call me Nick. May I know the name of my savior? - The dramatic flare with which the goat has presented himself, hooves on chest and muzzle held high, as if some noble of old, made Judy stifle a laugh, as well as his rather unusual family name. Well, if she were honest, it was probably not as strange as one of the famous hare actor, Jack Savage. Though it was his pudu wife's family name that he took.

\- Judy Hopps. Always happy to help a fellow mammal in need. Do you mind me asking where are you going? - A simple action. A simple question. That's how acquaintances are made. Still, Judy was very intrigued by the goat sitting next to her. He seemed like someone who had been a bit lost in time, both with his outfit and the ineptitude towards modern technology.

\- I am visiting a friend at the Bunnyburrow for the Halloween. He settled down there awhile ago and I meant to pay him one, but never actually got to going. This year is a special one though. - Nick had a voice that somehow charmed one's attention, making them catch every word that was being said. His ability to articulate the words and weave meanings into them with the subtle intonation changes only magnified this effect.

\- How so? - The bunny had her head turned towards the goat, her ears standing up in obvious interest, since the way Nick said "special" implied something mythical, rather than ordinary. She couldn't say how, but the doe knew it, felt it in her bones.

\- Well, my dear bunny, it's the fifth year after 2013, fifth year that fits into in Luponacci sequence from the start of a decade. The year when… - But then, the goat was interrupted. By another bunny that popped over the back of a seat in front of them.

\- Haha, I knew it. Jude the Spook in the flesh. Found any big bad wolves or bloodsucking foxes in that city of yours? How come ya still not in the white shirt? Who's your friend, another spook? Couldn't find any normal hare to share your freakiness with? - A resounding chorus of laughter joined the buck's scathing words, said in a jesting pseudo friendly way. Judy's smile never faltered, but the same couldn't be said about her wavering ears. She was used to being ridiculed. The verbal assault has chased her throughout her entire life, from the moment she first stepped outside her family burrow. Her family was always there to support and protect their sister from outright bullying and open mockery. It helped, but they couldn't always be there with her, especially as Judy grew older. She learned fast, with the help of her older siblings, to ignore the "bablers who didn't have enough brain cells to think about themselves and their own future.''

It was true that she was "freaky" as the buck so eloquently put. After all, predators were just a myth, a fiction, a scary tale told by mothers to the young ones to make them behave. The whole idea behind Halloween, the scary celebration at the end of the "scaremonth" of October, was to soften the influence of this tradition of scaring children with non-existing phenomena of predators. Still, a few mammals believed in the actual existence of the predators. Into the slick bloodsuckers - foxes, monstrous giants that could easily rip apart an elephant - bears, the wailing banshees that could still one's heart with a single roar - lions, the silent yet deadly stalkers of the Sabrod forests - tigers, the lightning fast incorporeal devourers - cheetahs, and the worst of them all, the flesh eating monsters that never came alone - wolves. And amongst those few was Judy. She knew how others viewed her. Back in the city such a belief was considered but an eccentric whim. In Bunnyburrow it made you an easy target for the gossip mill and the "nothing - better - to - doers". The doe could have easily ignored the words directed towards her, but she was never the one to stand aside when others were picked on. The bunny opened her mouth to protect Nick, but the goat spoke before even a single sound managed to escape from her.

\- It might have escaped your memory, but I never gave you permission to speak to either me or my friend here, peasant. - The goat's voice lost it's alluring quality, becoming potent with a chill of an arctic winter. The offending buck, now facing not a defenseless doe (little did he know that Judy was quite able in whipping the floor with him, being a farmer that gained structured knowledge on paw to paw combat) but a larger male mammal of a kind that was notorious for their explosive character and proclivity to decide who was right and who wrong through a headbutting "contest", suddenly became a lot less talkative and seemed to have his courage and bravado in short supply.

\- And there certainly was no exclusion of any piece of land from the Constitution which grants every mammal a right to personal opinion and belief, dignity, freedom of speech and finally to gather with like minded people. And breaking the Constitution, as your actions clearly indicate you are not aware of the fact, is a punishable offense. Now. - Usually, a goat would lower his head and prepare for a headbutt, but probably because of his black fedora hat, Nick simply bared his teeth at the buck.

\- Unless you want to direct our dispute to a more horns-on approach, I don't want to see you or your cohort of milksops anytime soon. Get. Lost. - With the finality of those words, the bunnies, who pestered Judy throughout her life were gone. The doe was impressed. After all it usually took her brothers a lot longer to get rid of them. But, they definitely lacked that silent yet potent aura of menace hanging around Nick at the moment, or the slightly… wild glint in his eyes. When just a minute ago he seemed like your average friendly mammal. Appearances, as they say, do deceive.

\- Now, I believe we were in the middle of a conversation when we were so rudely interrupted. And now it's my turn to ask you where are you going? - After the event, the rest of the ride went smoothly for Judy and her new acquaintance. They made some small talk, she told the goat a bit about her hometown and the best places to visit, about her studies back in Zootopia and her impression of the grand city. Only when it was time to say goodbye at the exit did she realize that the goat has expertly evaded any need to talk about himself. The doe promised to hunt him down one of these days and make him spill the beans. But that was after she lost him in the darkness of the night, being swarmed by her family at the platform.

After all, Bunnyburrow was a small town.


	2. The silent night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just now realized that what I call a short story will probably take me a lot of time to be able to finish prior to the end of October 31. Well. This is fairly upsetting clandestine knowledge.

\m/

Bob Thumpfoot was not used to humiliation, nor did he like it. He was much more comfortable with humiliating and embarrassing others. The buck was known throughout the Bunnyburrow as just another lazy “never do good”. His schoolmates knew him as “just another bully”. Some he disabused of this notion. Bob was the rising star of local mafia cell, and he was damned if he wasn't due appropriate respect. What that goat failed to show. 

The buck and his cohort stalked the horned son of a bitch that dared threaten them onto a thin badly lit country road, where they split and silently surrounded their unsuspecting victim, who sat on a bench under the weak light of an old lamppost. Feeling confident with the shiv in his paw, “inconspicuously” hidden behind his back, Bob stepped into the weak lamplight to confront the goat. But before he could say a word out of his smile-split mouth, the wooled city mammal has spoken. 

\-- Finally. I thought I would have to fast in this backwater village of yours. - There was a barely perceptible shift in the air, like a pop of a balloon blown up some distance away, and suddenly there was no goat in front of the buck. Instead, there sat a creature right from the nightmarish tales told to children on the “scaremonth” of October. A red fox, eyes gleaming in the pale yellow light and sharp pointy teeth, flashed in a smile. Suddenly, another voice sounded out of thin air. 

\-- Oh, don't be so harsh, Nick, this place is actually really progressive! It doesn't deserve to be called backwater. Podunk, on the other hand… - A silvery transparent figure, floating in the air, slowly came to be seen by naked eye. It was big and round, far from the sleek depictions, but the bunnies still recognized it - a cheetah. 

\-- Clawhauser. Nice to see you too. What about that damn hermit, he coming or what? - Just as the red fox finished his question, a sound of hooves falling upon the rock-solid earth resounded throughout the cool autumn air. A tall black steed in sheriff's uniform was slowly approaching the ragtag group of mammals. His nametag under the badge of office had the most unusual of names for someone of his kind, but the citizens of Bunnyburrow learned to just ignore it. After all, Sheriff Flo was a just and honest horse. 

For a second Bob felt elation and immense relief. He was saved. The Sheriff never left without his trusty boltgun in the holster. The steed could easily shoot the damn monster and they would go back home safe and sound, and he would be then telling this story as a spooky anecdote to his drinking buddies… 

There was a nudge in the back of Bob's mind, like a mental equivalent of someone poking him on the shoulder and then pointing out something with the finger. Something that he should have noticed from the start. Like the sheriff's eyes burning with golden fire. Then that same nudge pointed at the nametag. Flo Wlatem Live. Yes the name was strange, but the horse had a rather eccentric character, so he probably got his name changed to this one. There was supposed to be some kind of message in it. Like if you read it backwards… 

\-- Nicholas. I see you got here intact. Even that strange part of yours you think is funny. Or was it sarcastic? - The sheriff's voice was gruff and devoid of feelings as usual. Despite this, Bob suddenly experienced the need to lighten the load that has been slowly but surely building up within his bladder during the last minute. His body though found itself unable. 

\-- And I heard your vocabulary was limited to just a handful of less-than-four-letter words only, after you headbanged all that grey matter in your head away during the eighties. Uh, I hate it when my prey try to spoil themselves just because of fear. You would think they would become more resistant to it over the years but no, they are much more easily frightened every next time. - There was a sort of evaluating look in the fox's eyes as he once more put his gaze upon the leader of the bunnies that had the gall to try and assault him in the dark. Deep within that gaze hid hunger more fearsome than anything Bob has encountered throughout his entire life. Finally, he and his companions seemed to have snapped out of whatever it was holding them back as their instincts kicked in full throttle. Much to the horse's displeasure. 

\-- They are running, Nicholas. - The fire in the sheriff's golden eyes could lay waste to a thousand cities, but the fox only shook his head. 

\-- Nice deduction, Sherlock. Of course they're running. Where is the joy of the hunt if your prey stands still? Care to join in, Mister Big Bad Wolf? 

\-- Hunting rabbits? I would need to gobble at least a dozen to justify the transformation. You can have these ones to yourself. 

\-- Right, wolves fully transform, not cast illusions. You would think I would be able to remember what you told me just a century ago. Oh well, not all of us are blessed with a tiger's penchant for holding grudges. Don't wait for me. - With those last words the red fox dissolved into barely noticeable gray mist. The horse-wolf sighed, knowing there was going to be a lot more paperwork and distraught bunnies to deal with during the next half a year. Damn bloodsuckers. 

\-- Benjamin. Follow our fox friend and make sure no bodies are left behind. - The chubby transparent form gave out an impossibly high squeal, once more making the old fashioned wolf in the form of a horse question if he should have sent the cheetah to some metal vocal courses for him to learn to properly express his feelings with growling. As the chubby predator zoomed out, Sheriff Flo turned around and trotted back to where he left his car near the train station. 

October neared its end and so did a dozen lives. After all, what other purpose would predators serve in the world that willingly ignored their existence?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am fairly certain that I have a slight brain damage from how late I am putting this up.  
> w7u4bJ should work as a discord link to the server I am chilling at. My friend is from Tallahassee, Florida, btw, so if you are from the vicinity, chances you might find some new peeps.  
> Other than that, I am gonna go to bed and sleep.  
> Sufferings to you all.


	3. The wild run

\m/

Bob ran as fast as his large feet would allow. He dared not slow down, no matter how painful it was to draw another breath. There behind him in the shadows of the autumn evening lurked ancient evil known to mammals of old but scoffed at by the modern society as nothing more than a myth. Why would predators be depicted in the different cultures of multiple species nearly identically was explained as a phenomenal but not an impossible coincidence. Though these highly sophisticated thoughts evaded the running buck, as his whole body was consumed with the fear of what was to come.

Foxes were known to be bloodsucking monsters who lured their prey with powerful and intricate illusions into a false sense of security only to strike at the victim's exposed neck from behind. The death would be silent and painless as the predator would drain all of its victims blood, leaving behind a carcass of meat, skin and bones. But that only happened when the fox was in a good mood. If something were to anger it… Old stories told of fully armored soldiers torn apart by impossible force that dwelled in the seemingly fragile bodies, mauled by fang and claw, left in bloody pools, not a single drop of blood touched. And neither fate sat well with the bunny.

The mist was getting thicker with every step and soon Bob found himself unable to see further than his extended paw. As his vision waned, his mind regained control of his body, making the buck recognize the extreme pain in his side and the burning within his lungs. The sound of his racing heart and heavy panting resounded within his ears, blocking out anything else he tried to pick up. Unable to push his body any further, the buck stopped. Folded nearly in two, paws trying to find purchase on the trembling knees, Bob strained his eyes and ears, trying to locate any clue as to his location and if there was any sign of that… predator.

A gust of wind suddenly struck the buck right into his face, making it impossible for him to breathe as he tried to shield his muzzle with his hands, too shocked to think straight and simply turn the other direction. Just as spontaneously as it started, the wind died down, taking with it the mist.

The picture that presented itself in front of Bob that night was something straight out of a horror film. There, in the grass, lay bodies, like fallen grapes laying too long under the sun, dried and withered. The fox crouched in the center of the semi-circle the small bunny bodies formed, as his paws held the last of Bob's surviving pals in a vice like grip. Not a sound escaped from his throat, as those large white fangs pierced muscles and vessels, freeing the red fluid from its confinement within the small body, the fox's hollow nimble tongue sucking in every last drop. And when the fox was finished, not even a speck of blood would be found on the body, or within it.

Bob wanted to run. He really did. But he was no longer the master of his body. The buck was just a passenger, fully aware of what was happening, and worse, what was going to happen. He would be mutilated, torn apart and devoured like that little cricket he once "played" with. The memory somehow stood out as one of the biggest sins he committed in his life and for which he was probably being punished now.

\- Really, Bobby? Eating a cricket is the worst crime your mind has come up with to justify you being worth killing? Not your cruel disposition towards your peers, bullying, extortion, petty crimes, beatings you dashed out right, left and center? Insulting that young doe from the train? Trying to kill me? No. None of those. An insignificant little critter you tore apart and ate. Oh, so sad. Because you did that you are now being punished by the higher forces you don't even believe in. - The fox was getting closer with each word. His eyes, green, the color of life, were filled with silent laughter. There was no compassion in them.

As the fox leaned forward to level with the bunny's height, Bob suddenly felt his ability to command his own body return while the terror he felt in the presence of the predator vanished. Without even thinking, the buck fumbled for the folded knife that was in his pocket. The fox didn't move, his head just tilted to the side in curiosity, that sly smirk still present on the elongated muzzle. It took Bob five whole seconds to pull out the knife and free its blade. Not seeing any reaction from the predator, with a screech, Bob drove the blade full length into the fox's neck.

For several short moments, since the fox didn't so much as flinch, the bunny felt relief. He killed the damn beast. After all the blade he pulled was coated in silver. Thanks to that Halloween present, he was alive and fine! He… watched in stupefaction as the fox has retrieved the blade from the wound, not even blinking, and brought it in front of his eyes to inspect, all the while the wound all but disappeared.

\- Silver. Really, Bobby? This is exactly why you pay attention to what you are being taught. Because if you did, you would know that silver is for wolves, and I would ask you not to lump me with those crude savage maniacs. Why? Just one simple reason. Listen closely and pay attention, for I won't repeat. Foxes. Don't. Die. - With the look of utmost glee, Nick descended upon the screaming rabbit, fangs and claws piercing deep into the delicate flesh. And as the fox fed, the night grew silent once again.

\m/

Sitting on the windowsill of one of the few rooms reserved for elder bunnies still living at the Hopps farm, a lone bunny doe was leafing through an old tome under the light of stars. And a headlight. The book was a gift from one of her professors, a deer, going by Van Herding.

\- I wonder, what would you be, stranger who forgets that goats have hooves and not paws? - As the doe finished her sentence, as if in answer, her finger fell onto a page with description of a phenomena whose name consisted of three simple letters.

Fox.


	4. The Boss

\m/

It was a couple of days later that Judy managed to actually free herself from the grip of her family. Her parents wanted to know all about her plans for the future, if she finally had her fill of adventure and would finally settle down like a proper bunny doe should. Siblings from her age group were inquisitive about the big city life, where everyone just tries to get by and pressure doesn't ever ease up.

The most fearsome though were the younger ones. Not yet tainted by the fear of change, of new, of foreign, all the while still able to tell wrong from right, see white as white and black as black. Their never ending tirade of questions left the bunny feeling both elated and devastated. She failed to remember being just like that at their age. Mostly due to the fact her parents were real good at their "job" by the time she grew to that stage.

Still, it was finally Monday and most of the children of the Hopps family were now back to their usual homeschool activities, overseen by Bonnie. Using this time, Judy decided to finally get onto her personal quest of finding the mysterious goat. And where best to start then the local all-knowing rumor mill?

Apparently, some things were not known even to her all-present, all-seeing, all-hearing and oh so omnipotent posse of sisters and aunts. Despite how large a town Bunnyburrows was, life in it was pretty boring from the perspective of an outsider. Bunnies though loved their orderly and perfectly harmonious life, and so anything that even slightly disturbed their mundane routine usually became public knowledge in a matter of minutes.

A fight between bucks in school? You better believe that all the participants would be picked up in a couple of hours by their very much angry parents.

Someone falling sick? Anyone having more or less close connection to the bunny or bunnies in question would be sure to send them their regards and wishes, sometimes along with material help in case it was really needed, in a matter of minutes.

A new arrival in town? Full details of the intruder would spread out to every ear in town in a matter of seconds. Literally.

No such luck this time. Which was strange, even taking into account the fact Judy and the goat came back rather late in the evening. He would definitely be spotted by someone and the news would spread like wildfire, but somehow the mysterious outsider managed to evade the attention of this town's inhabitants. Having received an answer to her inquiries, Judy stepped away from the group of tea drinkers, deep in thought, trying to think of a way to locate her target, and so the following discussion about the recently missing bucks and the preparations of town for the scaremonth celebration of Halloween.

\m/

The stall was just as she remembered. Plain wooden cart, with one side flipped open to allow easy access to produce within, covered with a wooden board, on which stood cartons with different vegetables, fruits and berries their family grew on the farm, along with the occasional fresh made out of them. It was a small little space, away from the central street and markets of Bunnyburrows, specially set up for close friends and small families living in the neighborhood that didn't need to buy in bulk to feed themselves. Or just for weary walkers that needed a small refuel on their way.

Noon was usually a rather relaxed time of the day. Most inhabitants were either at their own farms, working their land or their households, or taking shelter from the hot glare of the bright celestial body up high in the blue cloudless sky with but a light breeze.

Judy was fine with it all. She was sitting in a comfortable summer chair under an umbrella, reading one of her books and slowly licking at her iced carrot fresh, something she learned from a friend - little shrew going by the name Fru Fru. Apparently her father was an ice plant owner and she talked about ice with enthusiasm that could rarely be found in a subject such as cooled water. Judy thought she needed to present the idea of selling this product in summer to her father.

This train of thought was interrupted by the raucous laughter and squealing of kits. Judy's long ears leisurely tracked the sound, as she kept her eyes on the book. It was just starting to get interesting, and unless the kits' laughter would be followed by customers, she didn't want to abandon her reading even for a second.

\-- Aunt Judy! Aunt Judy! - A chorus of high-pitched voices though had other plans for the doe. Her nephews and nieces loved to pester her when the bunny was visiting, since for them it was somewhat of a break from the routine. This stall was usually Judy's refuge, since it was located too far for the younglings to reach by themselves. Apparently not today. As her chest heaved with the inhaled air, ready to be sent back into the world, and shoulders raised before the inevitable plunge of resignation, a different voice, one filled with eternal mirth yet firm, commanding both obedience and respect, arrested the doe's movements.

\-- Now, what did I say about screaming at others? - The question was asked in a way that demanded an answer and brokered no way for evasion, prompting the chorus to reply in unison.

\-- Unless there is no other way, don't scream. But aunt Judy never hears anyone when she reads, it's justified! - The last sentence was said by one of Judy's favorite nieces, Eli.

\-- Well, while that might usually be true, young Elisabeth, but this time around, your aunt would easily hear you. Just look at those giant bunny radars tracing each hop we take. - Even without lifting her head up, Judy could imagine with what flourish of dramatic gestures the owner of the familiar voice would accompany his speech. The reality didn't differ much from her imagination.

The goat was indeed hopping, if but a little, his arms spread out, with a couple of bunny kits clinging to each one, happily swinging, jumping off and then climbing up the goat. Nick was dressed lighter than that day on the train: light green shirt with a leaf pattern, khaki pants and a purple untightened tie. At least the clothes was sturdy enough to survive the onslaught of the nine bunnies.

And while his eyes were hidden from the glare of the sun under aviator style sunglasses, the goat's smile directed at Judy was a clear indicator that he did recognize her.

\m/

Judy never really expected to find a kindred soul. After all, she was an anomaly among her own kind. Other bunnies, even her ever loving and caring parents who warily supported her, could not really understand the doe. Nick was akin to a fresh breath of air in a closed off room. The afternoon they talked about a lot of things. From books to movies, food (with, in the goat’s own words, obligatory carrot discussion) to drinks, finally arriving at the first point of disagreement that took them half a day - music. Because of course the goat with a strange taste in clothes would be a fan of RamStein. And the moment she brought up Gazelle as her own favorite singer, he stood up in pointed silence, took a couple of steps and with a loud proclamation of betrayal, fell to his knees. Much to the delight of the younger bunnies playing around, who immediately took their chance and "scaled" the goat. The rare clients would also be interested in the new face, and Nick usually presented himself as someone visiting a friend living in town. A friend who was not a bunny, the seller at the stall was apparently a bonus he was not aware of.

While happy to have made a new acquaintance, Judy never forgot her other goal. She studied the goat both from up close and from the side, trying to figure out his motives. He seemed carefree. The kits liked him and there were no reservations on his part when dealing with them. Yet at the same time there was a sort of impenetrable wall around him. While openly talking about different topics in general, the goat didn't really talk about himself. Likes and dislikes were probably enough for most, but Judy knew it was just something about the person, but not really telling much of who the person was.

She probed into Nick's defenses and the goat skilfully evaded them. In turn she was poked with a veiled dagger of words aimed at her soul, but time and again the doe would show that she was not that easy to read either. All in all, they both had fun while the kits played their games, always under the watchful eyes of the pair.

Until exactly at thirteen thirteen an old Furd Mustang Boss 429 1970 model drove up the gravel road to the stall, it's engine roaring like a great beast. As Judy was listing off these details to her new friend, one ear up high turned in the direction of the vehicle, he was staring wide eyed and mouth open at the doe. The car stopped a little way off from the stall, killing the engine and restoring the peace and relative quiet to the land. The doors clicked and out from the front passenger seat, to the common folks known as shotgun, came out a gray bunny doe, maybe in her fifties, carrying a woven basket, covered by a cloth.

\-- Thank you again for giving me a ride, deeeeeear. - The matronly voice, still sprung with youth despite the bunny's age, Judy would be able to recognize anywhere, she was sure of that.

\-- And I keep telling you, Bonnie, I am a horse. I was going to find Judy one way or another, so taking you with me was no feat at all, no need to thank me. - This voice was also familiar to Judy due to many hours she worked at the Sheriff's Headquarters in Bunnyburrow.

Her mother though was the first one to reach them, so the bunny mandatory hug (they just met this morning, what's the point?) later, it was time for introducing her new friend to the family matron.

Nick sure was a bit old fashioned when it came to greetings and introductions, but Judy was sure it was something her mom would appreciate. Some twenty odd years separated Bonnie and one of her worst daughters, but that time was more than enough for a rift to be formed in how they saw the world. And even greater separation between the grim elderly Sheriff, who started serving in Bunnyburrow when her mother was just born, and current generation. Being a bit anxious about the horse meeting the goat, Judy decided to t reach the Sheriff first, and become the one to introduce both ungulates, but apparently she was to caught up in her thoughts and lost track of time. She was too late.

\-- Hey, old man, what's the deal with this antique pony-sized bucket? Or is this considered the latest scream of fashion back in Podunk? - The goat was standing near the Boss, paws on hips, sizing the car up and down. By modern standards, it was large, especially considering the fact an equine was using it in a daily basis for almost half a century. Bonnie audibly gulped. Judy sent a silent prayer for the goat.

Sheriff Flo loyally served Bunnyburrow for as long as he possessed the car. The Boss was as much his badge of office as was the star pinned just above his left chest pocket. The horse was strict, exuded a no-nonsece-allowed attitude and possessed an explosive temperament. All supported by his vast intellect and enormous strength, a combination that didn't fade away even despite his age.

The goat was in for a world of pain.


	5. The Big Iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the November goes, as usual, without me sticking to the plan. What can I say. Work? Oh, and I finally got the effing plat in R6S. Now that the new season is out its time to redouble the efforts to achieve greater heights!   
> On the other hand, I am happy with how this story seems to flesh itself out. At least some part of the plan is coming together.   
> As always, suffer on, there are mistakes, I think I butchered a sentence or two, but who cares?

As the Sheriff's left eye visibly twitched, his right hand instinctively reaching for the holster of his bolt-thrower, the goat obliviously strode forward to take a better look at the car. 

\-- What horrible treatment for such a gal! Please tell me you at least bought her a new coat, not that you would be able to actually apply it in your age, old man, but I am sure that you could, as usual, incur a favor from one of the convicts that conviniently knows how to do it, and so happened to end up in your cell, am I right or am I right? - Not taking a single breath to shoot out the tirade, Nick was busy inspecting the paint job on the car. 

Sheriff's short fuse seemed to finally have burned through. The horse reached out his huge hooved paw out and simply lifted the offending mammal up into the air. The goat, now hoisted off the ground, didn't seem to be worried in the slightest. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying pushing the horse's buttons. Nick pursed his lips slightly and opened his eyes as much as he could, making a very trusting expression, looking right into Sheriff's huge eyes. 

\-- You wouldn't hurt me physically just cause I hwurt your fweewings, righty-o, Shewwif? - The goat was relentless in the face of the silent fury that stood embodied in a horse before him. 

Just as Judy and Bonnie decided to interfere, before it all went south, bunny ears subtly moving in a silent conversation, Sheriff Flo finally spoke. 

\-- Why, if it isn't Nicholas. Or at least that part you still think is funny. Get off the high rocker. Before I decide you need help. - Releasing his clenched hooves, the horse let Nick drop to the ground. The offending goat landed, making a show of checking himself out, patting his torso and head, before turning to Judy that stood with her jaw dropped open. 

\-- Carrots, meet the friend I am visiting. Flo Wlatem Live, no-sense-of-humor-extraordinare, the fist of good and the best shot on this continent. - The goat now was leaning with his paw on Sheriff's leg, as if it was a wall. The horse looked only mildly annoyed, leaving the bunnies that were witnesses to the absurd situation speechless. 

\-- You forgot to add Sheriff of Bunnyburrow. - The horse supplied in an acidic tone. This only made Nick to look him up and down, one brow raised. 

\-- I doubt anyone would believe me if I were to tell that. - And just like that, the imminent crisis was averted.

\m/

The trinity that was resting on the tall grass, basking in the midday sun, was not a sight one would often see. The tall horse had his legs stretched out, wide back leaning against a tree trunk. On his knees laid the goat's head, fedora hat draped over Nick's eyes, paws resting on his evenly raising and falling chest. Judy sat upright, hindpaws tucked under her, frame slightly bent forward, ears trained on the horse finishing the story of how he and the goat met. 

Nick, apparently, didn't have the best childhood. His mother worked tirelessly to support their small household, but the meagre income of a seamstress was barely enough to make the tails meet. Then young Sheriff met the zootopian rascal one winter, when the horse was due to attend qualification improvement courses. He was also asked as a guest for one of the boy scout troupes in the city, but was running late. The sight of a crying goat, a bridle at his hooves, sent the horse into a fit of rage that saw the troupe eventually disbanded… What followed were years of mail exchange, infrequent visits. The hardships the goat's family had to go through didn't magically vanish, but apparently, presence and support of two (instead of one) unbreakable figures in his life helped the kit to withstand the pressure of life. In the end Nick chose to enter the law and justice system, becoming a lawyer. His small private office didn't boast large clientele, but it was quality over quantity, the goat insisted. 

To Judy's dissatisfaction, the horse finished his tale all too quickly. But it was not his story to tell, and Judy could see that even that little part of Nick's life that was exposed made the goat feel extremely uncomfortable. Of course, he tried to hide it, but despite being friends with the horse, one could say the Sheriff basically brought him up along with the goat's mother, Nick still lacked the insensitivity of the grizzled police veteran. 

\-- In any case, Judy, I didn't come here to tell you stories. I actually have business with you. How are the cawmarks? - With the Sheriff switching the topic of conversation to something that was rarely discussed outside conspiracy forums or counseling rooms, the air suddenly became strangling. Even Nick seemed to have lost his carefree attitude, while the bunny's ears sprang into upright position, eyes wide and right paw unconsciously covering her cheek. 

Claws. Along with fangs, these two terms were never used to describe teeth and nails of mammals. These were words taken from either ancient mythology or horror stories. Used for a specific group of creatures that stood one step above modern mammals in the food chain. The predators.

\-- Carrots? Was it you who were clawed by the fox? - There seemed to be something strange happening to the goat. Despite there barely being any change on the outside, except hanging ears, gone was the laughing note from his voice. Instead, mixed in were a number of emotions. Incredulity. Anger. Fear. Caught a little off guard with the sudden shift in both the subject of conversation and the general mood, Judy didn't answer, nodding instead.

\-- Oh. Flo told me there was someone who needed help, but I never imagined… How did it happen? - It was Judy's turn to tell her tale and put on the table what cards were dealt to her. A subtle dip of Sheriff's head gave her the indication this individual could be trusted with such a delicate subject. A subject that in the age of supposed freedom of mind and choice could just as easily lead you to be an outcast and a freak as believing in the fact the earth was spherical just a couple of centuries ago. And it wasn’t some grand conspiracy. Things were much simpler. 

Fear. 

\m/

It all happened when Judy was nine. The town was holding its annual Farming Festival, complete with a fare, makeshift theatre, attractions of different kinds… It would have been of Judy’s favorite summers, as this was the day she announced to the whole town (though honestly speaking, it was mostly parents of the little “actors” present, with one notable exception) she would one day become a law enforcer. And not just somewhere out there in the woods, no. She would be the first bunny police officer of the great city-state of Zootropolis (currently dominated by large mammals, but that was something propaganda wouldn’t let onto the media). 

That day nothing could spoil her good mood, or so saJudy thought. Seeing her friends being led away by the rotund ram, Gideon, and his posse (she barely ever paid attention to the meek beaver), the bunny felt evere the more determined to prove she was on the right path. Standing up for her friends against a known bully was just the starting point. Judy didn’t notice one peculiar thing. There were adults around her that should have witnessed what was going on. Should have noticed the rather rough way in which the ram was pushing the poor sheep. Only later did Judy realize that she also never registered the sinister look or the violence that Gideon exhibited that fateful day. 

Only when the ram did push her into the ground and Judy’s hindpaws connected with something rock solid, and not just flesh and bones of another mammal’s face, did she realize that what her mind was registering was not real. Reality had a crimson hue to it and razor-sharp feel. Almost like that knife she cut her forefinger with when helping her mother with cutting carrots. That was the first time she realized those bed-time stories her mother used to scare their family were real. Not just shadows chasing you in the darkness, but beings of flesh and blood, capable of inflicting pain and spit out words of hatred. 

The red paw, endowed with long (compared to bunny’s) nails - claws - raised again to strike the little bunny, the maw full of white pointy teeth - fangs - snarling in a fit of rage. The doe stared, wide eyed, her body frozen solid, psyche refusing to suddenly accept the harsh reality. 

It was the first time Judy heard and saw the fearsome boltgun in action. Every family in town made sure to teach their kids respect and fear the Sheriff. And especially the big hunk of iron he wore openly in a holster on his hip. That thing stroke down with the wrath of justice by fire and thunder all the evil doers. It was a rare sight for the small mammals. Just the kick from the shot of the thunder weapon would at best break arms, at worst you could end up with a fracture in your skull. The unlucky mammal on the receiving end of the big iron would barely be left recognizable as something more accurate than a simple lump of perforated flesh. 

But the beast in front of her, no matter the fact it was not much larger, but the only thing that the loud thunder managed to achieve was to knock it back.

Screaming, the red snarling mass tried to pick itself up, but that was when the thunder stroke a second time. Third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. What at first seemed to be zero effect, at length turned out to devastate the red beasts skull, cracking it open and ripping the upper jaw off. Singed fur and tissue barely left to cover what was left of the face. Tongue lolled on a thin tissue. 

Heavy steps approached the squirming beast. Judy watched, body still, mind detached, as the tall horse put new cartridges into the cylinder. Six of them. Closing, the horse put one of his hindlegs onto the chest of the read mass, aligned the bolt thrower and started pounding bullet after bullet into what remained of the monster’s skull. As the twelfth shot thundered away, the headless body started withering away, like ash carried on the wind. 

For the nine year old girl the event was something she would not be able to remember much of until much later. When she would revisit that day under careful supervision of her mentor. At that time, all she knew was that she defended her friends from a bully, and the Sheriff was impressed enough to propose her to become his informal apprentice, until she would be able to apply to work formally in the office when she would turn 14. Happy, the doe didn’t pay much attention to the scars that seemed to have closed in on themselves. Neither did she pay attention to the other fact that years later would fuel her interest in what was considered impossible. 

The beast that attacked them that day had no blood.


End file.
